


Down the Rabbit Hole

by icepixie



Category: due South
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Humor, Silly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-31
Updated: 2010-12-31
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:49:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icepixie/pseuds/icepixie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Marrying Benton Fraser had certainly ensured she would retain an interesting perspective on the absurd."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down the Rabbit Hole

**Author's Note:**

> Earlier this year, magsyb requested established relationship Fraser/Thatcher fic. I doubt this was quite what you were expecting, but hopefully it's entertaining nevertheless. :D
> 
> Sincerest apologies for my crimes against geography.

"We are going to be so late," she fretted, thrusting her arms into her red uniform tunic. "I knew we should've set the alarm for six instead of six-thirty." In fact, six-thirty would have been plenty of time to get ready, but...certain activities, which they really did not have time for, had interfered.

"Meg," he said, putting his hands on her shoulders. "Breathe." Narrowing her eyes at him, she inhaled deeply through her nose and slowly exhaled. While she did so, he quickly did up the buttons on her tunic. He'd already gotten into everything except his boots, damn him.

"We have plenty of time," he continued. "After all, the Inuit consider the concept of time to—"

"Please, not now," she begged. She grabbed both sets of boots from the closet, where they stood next to each other. Each of them quickly put them on and laced them up, the years of practice making them quick and efficient at the task.

She looped her Sam Browne over her shoulder and around her waist, skinning the leather through the buckles and jerking the whole contraption into place while he settled his Stetson on his head. "Your cap," he said when she'd finished, holding it out to her. She took it and jammed it onto her head.

"Here, let me just..." She used both hands to straighten his lanyard—not that it needed straightening, but she liked to pretend that _something_ about him could fall victim to messiness like any normal person.

"Thank you," he said, and something in his expression made it impossible not to kiss him one more time.

"We _have_ to get going," she said when she finally managed to drag herself away. She grabbed his hand and practically ran out of the bedroom, darting through their house toward the back door, stopping only for her car keys.

"At the posted speed limits, allowing for some variability in traffic patterns and traffic light synchronizations, it takes approximately fourteen minutes and thirty seconds to get to the courthouse from here," Ben said. "We have seventeen minutes before we're required to be present."

She shook her head, locking the door behind them. "It's half an hour later than we usually leave for work. Traffic's going to be worse; it'll take more like twenty-four minutes, maybe twenty-five." She was surprised to have caught him out like that. Of course, both of them had been a little distracted this morning.

"Ah." He got a distant look for a moment, as if calculating something. "The courthouse is only thirty-six blocks from here. In light of the traffic, it would likely be quicker to travel on foot."

Thirty-six blocks. On foot. In her dress reds.

She supposed she'd done stranger things over the past two years, including helping him and Detectives Vecchio and Kowalski put a stop to an international caribou smuggling ring, the proprietor of whom, one Chris Kringle, they were appearing as witness against in court this morning. Marrying Benton Fraser had certainly ensured she would retain an interesting perspective on the absurd.

"All right." With a nod, she pocketed her keys, and both of them started down the sidewalk at a run.


End file.
